Saturday, November 21, 2009

No, I don’t wish to invite the wrath of scientists and technicians who work day in and out around sources of motion. But I must make the truthful confession.

Men have varied addictions. While some smoke, others drink. Another breed is faithful to their wives … and so on. Some men even dare to dash out with their dangling organs to the nearest available prostitute. There can be many more.

Some of them get cured as they resolve to come out of it. But I have this strange addiction – to be physically part of motion and sense it.

And I don’t wish to come out this one.

Decades back, while I was crossing the street, a bicycle came charging towards me. In a fit of fantasy, my ten-year old hand vaguely attempted to stop it … but failed. A bruise on top of the palm, few visits to doctor later, I was hooked to this.

When I see something in motion, I feel to sense it. That’s the charm, in short.

Strange, isn’t it? Yet whatever little I’ve tried to control keeps surfacing back. Few years after the bicycle incident, I was riding pillion on the rickshaw that took us to school. My eyes fell on its revolving wheels. Weeks after observing those wheels, I craved to touch it.

The day came and my left foot was inside while the rickshaw was in motion. I was rushed back home. A tensed mom got my toe stitched by the physician, tetanus injection administered … and warned me to be less of a nuisance for her.

More than the agony, I was completely satisfied!

Another day, I was in the mood to test gravity and the free fall. Getting on top of the school playground jhoola, I started to look downwards. The height could be around ten feet. My mind wanted to sense the gravity.

Instantly, I jumped to ground and fell straight on my face.

The entire central incisor (tooth) from the root came out and the upper lip got badly torn. I bled profusely till the time I was rushed to the doc. The handkerchief held to my mouth started dripping blood. Stitches again … but I remained cool.

Our school principal admired my patience … little did he know that this boy's inner peace was the sense of accomplishment. There was more to come.

During my graduation, one day I was sitting with my (the then) girlfriend on the stairs of my university building. It was early evening. Needless to say, she was an intelligent company, perhaps one of the most intelligent of ladies that I met in this life. The conversation, naturally, kept going … until I looked at my wrist watch.

It was eight thirty … almost an hour after the main gate to the building is closed!

She had to be rescued out. I rushed to the first floor corridor. It was a frantic attempt to get her out of the building to try and avoid a terrific ordeal of scores of scandalous remarks from our surroundings.

And then I decided. I would jump from the balcony, land on the road in front and then rush to the security folks. Pleading them will help, since they will believe me that (only) a lady is trapped inside and they’ll open the gates.

I touched her hands … and within seconds took the plunge. A few minutes later, she was out of the building to my relief. And then she wanted to look at my palms on whose support I landed on the road below. I opened them to her.

With a sudden reflex, she moved her face away from me … palms were all smeared with blood.

It’s hard to contain. Even today, my brains tickle me when the pedestal fan starts to revolve in top speed. Or when the train whizzes past me or the aircraft rushes to fly on the runway, I crave for the motion … and wish to feel it first hand.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Of all the wonderful aspects of life that I have fallen in love with, the fascination for truth is one. From my younger days, I have been a fanatic trying to uncover mysteries surrounding a man’s quest for truth.

During my younger days in school, teachers advocated to speak the truth. It was more than the mere Gandhian call to honesty. My mom, being a lady full of ideals pushed me hard to shun lies of all forms. And here I was, as the devil incarnate, willing to sacrifice everything for truth … and nothing but the truth!

It’s another matter that the truth I followed mostly turned against me.

I had this habit of stealing food from kitchen or refrigerator. Whenever I got this opportunity, a swift act to steal a few spoons of custard kept in the fridge or sugar from the kitchen container was my habit.

When my mom found it out (I consumed in wholesome quantities), the only admission I made was that I did it. The entire purpose of stealing being lost, a strong admonition from my sister added to the stringent punishment from mom.

We siblings were partners in that ‘horrendous crime’.

My mother disliked her son to be growing like a thief, but then her son was different. The obsession to be truthful never failed … and mostly there were punishments in store that sealed her aspirations to make me a decent man.

Back then, during our school days, sexual explorations were mostly myth. But they happened in secrecy. This incident was from my high school days. A girl was proposed by a guy from our class, and they decided to make love in our chemistry lab.

I was a class monitor. The girl came to me with this proposal. She wanted to bribe me so as to help her carry the act. The idea was to have me follow the love-making act with her after she’s done with this guy. But then, I had to lie and support them in case the administration found them out.

The bribe was titillating, but then I was a fanatic for truth. I refused to lie in case required. Not that I was against this ‘unholy’ act, but was scared in case my teacher made a mountain out of a molehill from my statement.

There could be a backlash. None knew the punishment for a misadventure in such sexual acts. The alleged rumour was that boys were suspended, and their private parts unceremoniously ‘scrutinized’.

Sanjay Gandhi’s drive for sterilization was doing the rounds those days!!Though the adventure stopped, the idea that a darker world lies beneath the truth did expose. I call them unpleasant or the ‘unholy’ truth. And in all my life, I have enjoyed a secret pleasure trying to relish the darker side of the truth.

A distant relative died of cancer, and her husband eloped with the housemaid within the next few days. When the news came to our family, they were shocked. None could explore it further or expose.

For me, it was bonus news. It was a fact that he fled, but this 'truth' wasn't relished. It remained submerged forever in privacy.

Cut to the online world, there were many such instances when I was made party to a truth that could never come out. Strangely though, such facts were damn interesting. Just that they couldn’t be exposed for fear of the backlash!.

Societal norms or fear of retaliation, they even deny the fundamentals of truth!

Every time I think of them, I feel these truths should be documented and shared. And most of these times I feel bad for those who acted in them. Even on those that I had a part, I feel bad for the person who was involved with me for the fact. And so the necessary truth remains undisclosed.

Otherwise, there could be rounds of misdemeanour, love proposals, dates … adultery and so much more that stays within the confines of my own freaking brains.

I fear a backlash. Still reminds me of those days of the nasbandi drive!